


Smokey Eyes

by SassyTabris



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Aggressively cares about you in Mandalorian, Broken Bones, Gen, It’s not technically shippy but i wrote this with future mutual pinning in mind, M/M, Sparring, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, a little ooc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-17 22:08:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28607256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SassyTabris/pseuds/SassyTabris
Summary: It was meant to be a simple exercise, Din would’ve sworn on it. Something had just changed along the way.
Relationships: Din Djarin & Boba Fett, Din Djarin/Boba Fett
Comments: 8
Kudos: 232





	Smokey Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Setting is a month after the events of S2, somewhere on Tatooine a little bit after Boba’s takeover.
> 
> Title taken from a song of the same name by Lincoln.

It was meant to be a simple exercise, Din would’ve sworn on it. Something had just changed along the way. 

Sparring wasn’t something he’d ever been a stranger to in the covert. Paz had been particularly fond of pulling him into fights over the smallest of things- partially to take the edge off, partially because it was one of the few ways Paz ever seemed to reliably express his feelings. (Was he even still alive? He hadn’t seen his helmet in the pile, but that meant little.) 

Din had been the one to suggest a spar between himself and Boba. It had only been a month, and the space left behind by Grogu’s absence was growing closer and closer to feeling like a black hole in his chest. He needed a distraction, and he had already completed every job Karga and Boba himself had offered him with brutal efficiency. 

“You sure you don’t want to rest instead?” Boba had replied with a tilt of his helmeted head. “You’re still singed to hell from that last job.” 

“Would you rather I brawled with your hirelings instead?” Din had said back with a scowl in his voice. Boba had scoffed and stood, gesturing to the door simply. 

“If you _want_ to be stabbed, be my guest. Otherwise, give me two hours to finish my work.”

Din had gritted his teeth. And waited.

* * *

“Is that all you got?” Boba taunted from across the sand, a bit of blood dripping down from his nose. A crooked grin was plastered on his face that made something in Din’s chest twist painfully. He should’ve made Boba wear his helmet too.

He didn’t take the bait, regardless, recognizing his words for what they were. Din edged around the ring like a loth-cat stalking its prey. Boba seemed content to let him do as much. The man watched him out of the corner of his eye, his stance deceptively lax. Din knew just how hard he could hit, had seen him in action enough times to know just how powerful Boba was. 

It was just what he needed.

Din charged at him headlong, aiming at the man’s stomach. As expected he had barely entered Boba’s range before the other man had hurled him over his shoulder and to the sand in front of him. Din landed with a hard grunt, barely rolling to the side in time to avoid being grabbed again. He pushed himself to his feet as quickly as he could and aimed another punch that was easily deflected and returned just as quickly with a knee in his own chest that almost sent him sprawling back onto the sand. 

“You can do better than that, Princess,” Boba laughed, ducking to dodge another flimsy attempt to hit him. His fists landed heavy against Din’s forearms when he struck again, though this time Din hopped out of the way of a kick. 

He didn’t quite manage to do the same when Boba tackled him, elbow lodged against his chest. They landed with a rough thud, and a sickening  _ crack _ . Din hissed in pain, the sound barely a whistle through his helmet. Boba shifted off him without a beat, brows furrowed in concern.

“Did I break something?” 

“No,” Din wheezed out the very convincing lie through his teeth. He tried to pull himself back up, biting back a pained noise (he’d had worse- the mudhorn that had become his signet had fractured all but five of his ribs. It shockingly didn’t make the pain of a single broken one hurt any less), before Boba’s firm grip on his shoulder locked him in place. 

“Don’t lie to me, Din. What’s broken?” 

“It’s nothing, Fett. Are we fighting or what?” 

Boba narrowed his eyes and gripped the base of Din’s helmet. His chest fluttered with fear on instinct before he squashed it. He wasn’t even worthy to wear it anymore, after all. Boba didn’t move to take it off, just held it firm so that Din had nowhere to look but Boba’s face. 

“What’s broken, Djarin.” The other man repeated. His voice was stern and unyielding, his eyes even more so. Din swallowed through the growing lump in his throat, chest aching in rebellion at the action. 

“A rib. Or my collarbone, maybe. I can’t tell.” He finally whispered. Boba released his shoulder and stood, offering both his hands to help him up. Din didn’t think twice about taking them even as his body screamed at him for moving. 

“Go get the med-droid to look at you.” Boba ordered, trying to shoo him off. When Din didn’t move his face twisted in clear annoyance. “I’m not sparring with you any more today, and anyone else you get to take my place will be hearing from me personally. Get going.” 

“Why?” Din hated how petulant he sounded. Like a youngling who’d been denied a sweet. 

“Because I know what you’re doing. And it’s stupid as all hell.” Boba replied, not tearing his gaze away from Din’s helmet for a moment. “Pain isn’t going to make you feel better. Neither is booze or sex, Djarin. What you’re feeling is something only busy hands and time can heal, and I refuse to let another sorry bastard make the same mistakes I made when I was younger.” 

He reached up and squeezed Din’s arm gently through his blacks and the civvies he wore over them. It hurt from the bruises beginning to form under the clothing, but it felt steadying. Din let out a heavy breath and winced when the motion earned him another sharp stab of pain. 

“Get that looked at, Djarin, and maybe I’ll have a job for you afterwards.” Boba said quietly before letting him go and gesturing where Din should go.

He didn’t argue, this time. 


End file.
